Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite
by holadios
Summary: A toddler gets the opportunity to diagnose a mastermind diagnostician. And might get another story for her trouble. Sequel to Bedside Manners.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that is the cuteness of Rachel or the brilliance that is House. Or Cuddy.

**A/N:** So I wasn't planning on writing a sequel to Bedside Manners, but Temo's suggestion for a sequel about the viruses invading Housetopia was too brilliant an idea to pass up. So, thanks, Temo, for inspiring this story. If you haven't read Bedside Manners, this story will still make some sense, but you won't get a lot of the references. (Also, go read Bedside Manners because I think it might be better...)

**A/N:** Thanks so much to the combined efforts of Pandorama and Melissa for making this story not suck.

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"I'm only saying this one more time. Leave – me – alone!"

"Fine!" Cuddy retorted, exasperation finally getting the best of her. He knew he had pushed her to her limit, but he didn't care. All he could feel was his body on fire, burning with fever, and aching.

She stood up from the bed and made to turn away, but then she gently brushed her hand against his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said softly. He grunted in reply. "I guess that's what you get for passing out next to a germy toddler who's perfectly content to use your shirt as a Kleenex."

"There was a stuffed dog between us," he answered. "I promise he got the worst of it."

"Right," Cuddy said, a small smile on her lips.

He wished he hadn't told her about – no, wait, he _hadn't_ told her about cuddling with Rachel. Rachel had. The little sneak. He told himself he would never speak to her again (which of course had lasted all of ten minutes).

He sighed. "Tell the Hardy Boys not to kill anyone."

"Mhm," she replied absently as she began gathering her things. "Marina knows not to let Rachel near you, so she shouldn't bother you. Unless you want her to, that is." She smirked.

"Leave me alone," he whined, burying his face under the pillow.

"Okay," Cuddy said. She patted his arm. "Have a nice day."

He woke to the sensation of being watched. He stayed still, the pillow over his face, listening carefully for the sound of someone else. He pulled the pillow from his face and threw it aside, but when he opened his eyes, he couldn't see anyone there. He shrugged and reached behind him for the bottle of Motrin PM. He opened it and dumped four pills into his hand, doubling the suggested dosage. He looked around again to make sure no one was watching, and then threw the pills into his mouth.

"Boo!"

He groaned. "I thought you were supposed to be leaving me alone."

Rachel jumped up from her hiding place beside the bed, staring at him with wide, brown eyes. He wondered what she was holding behind her back. He decided he didn't care what it was.

"Scram!" he hissed. She didn't move. He opened his mouth to yell for Marina.

"Woof woof?"

Her hands were no longer behind her back. She was holding the stuffed Labrador he had christened Dr. Dog two inches from his nose. "Woof woof?" she repeated.

"Rachel…" He reached out to push the dog away, but instead she shoved the dog underneath his hand so that he was petting it. He immediately moved his hand and tried to push the dog away again.

"No," Rachel insisted. "We help." She tried to climb up on the bed next to him.

"No, no," he moaned, pushing her away. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, but she didn't turn away. She stared at him in disbelief, as though unable to comprehend why he was treating her so cruelly. He wondered why she didn't move.

"Go away," he ordered her.

She blinked, and he saw a lone tear leak out of the corner of her eye. She sniffed, but didn't brush it away. It was like watching a miniature Cuddy crying. God, what tricks had her mother taught her already?

He sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want her there – well, he didn't _really_ want her there, but he could have tolerated her, as long as she let him sleep. But what would Cuddy say if her daughter ended up with the flu _again_? Rachel had only recovered from the virus a few days ago. Oh, well. He figured the chances of her catching the same virus again were pretty remote anyway.

"Rachel," he said, reaching out to her. She didn't take his hand, but she didn't pull away either; he supposed that was a good sign. "Do you want to stay with me?"

She nodded.

"Even if you get sick?"

She nodded again. He wondered if she'd even understood what he'd said.

"Well, on your own head be it then," he conceded. He patted the space next to him, and Rachel clamored up onto the bed.

"Woof woof?" she asked. He saw her open her mouth and pretend to have Dr. Dog look inside. He wondered why he'd ever thought she was dumb; she certainly remembered a lot.

Indulging her, he opened his mouth. Rachel and Dr. Dog peered inside. House did his best not to breathe on them.

"Hmm," Rachel hummed. She appeared to be thinking hard about something. Then, without warning, she pressed down on his neck with the paws of the stuffed dog.

"OW!" House yelled. He pushed her hands away, but tried not to be too angry with her. She was only doing what she had seen him do. There would be time to teach her better technique later.

"Flu?" she asked. She seemed pleased by her diagnosis.

"No thanks to you," he replied. "What does Your Doctorness recommend?"

She hesitated, and then climbed onto his chest so that her stomach was pressed against his. "Story!" she exclaimed.

"No, no stories," he grumbled. "The patient needs to rest."

"Tell story?"

"No."

"Please?"

"I'm the sick one," House whined. "You should be telling me a story."

"Story?" she repeated hopefully. She laid her head down on his chest and looked more than content to lie there until she either got what she wanted, or fell asleep, or both. She stared up at him inquisitively, daring him to not oblige her wishes. He was forcibly reminded of the same expression her mother gave him anytime she wanted something. He sighed.

"Legend has it that the purple river drowned out all the virus babies – but as it turns out, one of those suckers survived. Because its parents were uncreative, it was named Bob the Virus the Second. They weren't big on names in Bob's family. Unable to save his family from drowning, Bob the Virus the Second took a running leap and broke through the borders of Rachelandia into a new world, previously uninhabited. He decided to name it Housetopia."

"How-a-pa-toya?" she tried to repeat. He snorted.

"Sure, How-a-pa-toya," he agreed. "And Bob the Virus the Second began plotting his land and plowing his fields, and soon he produced super virus baby children that were immune to Grape-Flavored Children's Tylenol Cold and Flu medicine. The creates of How-a-pa-toya armed themselves for war, and worked really, really hard to make the invaders go away, but the strength of the opposing army was too strong, and How-a-pa-toya fell into despair."

He could feel himself nodding off again. His eyes closed, but he continued talking.

"A heat wave surrounded How-a-pa-toya for a long time and everyone suffered, but Bob the Virus the Second did his best to endure it, though he grew weaker by the day. Finally, when it seemed like all hope was lost and a stalemate would have to be declared, a superhero team appeared to save How-a-pa-toya from total destruction."

He shuddered. The sleep aid in the Motrin was kicking in rapidly. He could have sworn the room was spinning.

"And…and…"

He could feel Rachel shifting her position on his chest. She reached her arm across him so that she was hugging his body. He tried to reach up his hand to touch her, but his arms felt too heavy. Rachel slowly wrapped her small, cool fingers around his hand.

He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn that before he gave into the drugs and fell asleep, the last words he heard were Rachel finishing his story.

"And their names were Rachel and Dr. Dog."

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**A/N:** If you enjoyed it, review! Or review anyway.


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